


Women and Songs

by mochiinvasion



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, aph rus exchange, hipster AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochiinvasion/pseuds/mochiinvasion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s hot, she gets it and she’s probably at least bi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Women and Songs

**Author's Note:**

> For the APH RUS Ship exchange - chose the prompt 'hipster AU'. 
> 
> Of course I made them lesbians. 
> 
> Hope you like it Cezara!

It’s not the most awkward conversation Francine has ever had concerning music, but it comes close. The thing about Amelia is that, while she seems cool as fuck, there are some fundamental differences between the two that Francine can’t ignore. First – Amelia talks, drinks and moves a-mile-a-minute, as if there’s no time in the world and she has to do everything at once. Her words come out almost quicker than Francine can parse them: “Oh-you’re-from-France-that’s-so-cool-you-know-my-dad-was-French?-I-always-wanted-to-go-but-it-never-worked-out,” and pause to take a sip. Second – while Francine does everything with grace in mind, Amelia does everything with purpose. Francine gets up to use the bathroom and she walks slowly, weaving her way in and out of the crowd and adding just enough sway to her hips to get attention; Amelia walks quicker than most people Francine knows, she keeps her mouth permanently open for all the ‘excuse me’s and she bears towards the bathroom as if it’s her sole aim in life. Third, and this is actually the first thing she notices, mainly because it was the start of the conversation – they have a fundamental and possibly friendship-breaking difference in attitude as to music and popularity.

They start talking because they’re sitting next to each other at the bar; waiting for a band they both like to play their first show in a foreign city. Francine notices Amelia because she sits down, orders a drink and takes off her jacket, revealing a lot of skin covered by black lace until her dress starts just above her not-insignificant chest and revealing what is clearly a tattoo in progress that seems to be emblazoned with the logos of several bands she likes. She takes a chance and starts talking, on account of being on her own this time, and when she starts her speech on the beauty of indie music and the underground scene and how it always seems more real than produced, commercialised music, Amelia shakes her head and admits that for her, quality is always more important than popularity – she’s seeing this particular band because she likes them and the bar is near her apartment, not because they’re underground and barely have triple digit followers on Twitter.

At first, Francine reckons that this statement is enough to break this friendship when it’s only been viable for a few minutes. But then she picks a band at random that she’s seen in the last few months that isn’t on Amelia’s tattoo and the other girl’s face breaks into a big smile as she admits that, yes, she was there too. And the next and the next and on it goes till the two are questioning how they never found each other before – and then their next and biggest similarity emerges. Every single ‘show’ they’ve been to has been a date except this one, and they are both alone this time because they are “taking a break” after the latest mess of a relationship. Francine admits that she has trouble with fidelity; Amelia says that she’s too flirty despite her preference for exclusivity. Francine notes the ‘preference’ in the same place that she notes Amelia’s legs her massive smile, the slightly flirty tone to her voice and the way her eyes keep flickering to Francine’s chest – the part of her that always goes “yeah, they’re hot, but do they _get it_?”

It seems that, despite the initial hiccup, Amelia does get it, and that’s when Francine decides she’s really fucked.

Still, when the band start setting up she lets Amelia take her hand to lead her towards the ‘stage’. During the performance, she lets her eyes flicker towards Amelia a few times, enough to notice how she dances naturally rather than because she feels she has to, the genuine smile on her face and the way that her eyes turn first to the female bassist rather than the (fairly hot) male singer. After the show (it was okay, for the record. Good for a starting band playing their first non-native show but by no means the best one she’s been to) she lets Amelia lead her back to the bar and buy her some drinks and she lets herself get carried away in conversation. She definitely doesn’t notice the fact that her eyes linger on Amelia’s lips as they curve, bright red and sinfully delicious looking, around the rim of her cup, and definitely doesn’t file the way that Amelia’s legs look when she uncrosses them to shift to a more comfortable position into the bit of her mind that goes “she’s hot, she gets it and she’s probably at least bi, _but…_ ”

It’s really a blessing when the band comes down into the floor of the bar and Amelia perks up and suggests buying them a drink. One drink turns into several and Francine is torn between mourning her significantly lighter purse and trying to decide whether to ask Amelia out for another drink some other time or just (mentally) yell ‘fuck it’ and go home with one (or several) of the people in the band. She’s not a groupie and they’re not _that_ hot, but band people do it better and at the very least it would scratch the itch that Amelia has ignited.

She wants to fuck Amelia, is what she’s saying, and _then_ take her out for drinks, dinner and a movie and decide whether a casual fuck and friendship should become her next disastrous attempt at a relationship ( _preference_ her mind reminds her, but she spoke first and maybe Amelia was just trying to be Cool With That).

Her mind is more or less made up when Amelia checks her phone, makes an exclamation at the time and stands up, grabbing her jacket and saying she has to leave. The dress, she notices now, has cutouts on the side, just where her hands would fit, and it reveals a _lot_ of leg. Somehow, her makeup has stayed flawless, and when her lips purse as she thinks about how to get home, Francine stands up and says she has to go too. The bassist at least looks disappointed, and the others have the grace to pretend. Turns out, they actually live around the corner from each other and Amelia drops a line about how she should totally come around for drinks sometime, when Francine maybe sort of allows herself to read as something a lot less innocuous.

Amelia is hard to read, and when they sit opposite each other on the bus, Amelia quiet from tiredness and Francine from tipsiness, neither pretends that their eyes are directed anywhere except directly at each other’s body. Amelia, at least, looks like she’s sizing her up, and while Francine has done more than enough ogling, she can’t help but imagine what it would be like to take and/or go home with her, and it’s enough that she suddenly becomes _really_ thankful for her anatomy.

She’s drunk enough that she staggers when she walks up the path to Amelia’s apartment block and feels pinpricks of fire on her bare arm where Amelia puts up a hand to support her, and she stands one step down while Amelia rummages for her keys. She’s almost in when Francine, who is just drunk enough, grabs her wrist, looks her in the eye and says “what would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Amelia doesn’t skip a beat and instead smiles a widely, lips crimson (Francine definitely notices), bends down a little way to whisper in her ear “I’d say that you haven’t even got me dinner yet,” press a light kiss to her cheek and then disappear inside.

Francine’s not a teenager, and she really doesn’t press the kiss to her cheek or anything, but she keeps the memory of Amelia whispering in her ear for the next several days.

-

And…that’s it.

They exchanged Facebooks because, of course, what else would they exchange, and Francine notices the problem with this when she remembers that she really doesn’t use Facebook – even for Amelia. Instead, she gets on with her life, mourns briefly the dearth of good indie shows in the area for the next month or so, and sleeps with a few strangers. They leave in the morning (or sometimes the night) and Francine doesn’t remember their names. The part of her that maybe still really wants Amelia still burns a little, but when she finally remembers to check Facebook she realises quickly that Amelia probably hasn’t been missing her at all. Amelia seems instead to be the type who somehow manages to be a full time student, have a part time job and still try and live life to the max.

She parties a lot, Francine notices, and though she’s always with girls she’s never with them, and if she takes people home she doesn’t talk about it. She paints her life like it’s a bright picture, never posts melancholy statuses or complains about anything and instead seems to treat her page like it’s a way to boast about how happy she is.

Francine doesn’t know her well enough to say whether that’s a lie, and maybe it’s just because she has too many lovers and not enough friends, but she starts to withdraw into a sort of half-serious melancholy, taking a minute every so often to tell herself how silly she is before she falls back into the almost-sadness. It’s not pining and it’s not really loneliness, but she dropped out of college, she’s unemployed and her funds are slowly running out and her flat, despite being small and cramped, feels really _really_ empty.

When she’s melancholy, she paints, and it’s when she’s trying to sell one of said paintings that she catches sight of someone who could be Amelia from the back and she realises that’s she’s not pining, but she really really is. 

And yet, Amelia never contacts her and the promised drinks never happen, and she tells herself she’s too busy to talk to her but really she’s put off by comparing her own life to that of Amelia’s. She almost starts to look for a proper job to pick herself back up into the world before she catches herself, gives herself a stern talking to and returns to her well-worn, 50p paperbacks to reaffirm her way of life and give her vague, meaningful quotes to write across her skin, wrap into her paintings and gauze her wounds.

She’s being overdramatic and treats herself too much to force the endorphins, and eventually there’s nothing left in her purse at all and she calls her parents in tears and they give her a verbal eye-roll, a vaguely threatening “next time we see you young lady” and enough money to last her for a few months. She still sells her paintings anyway, because it’s as close to a job as she’s going to get, and the more money she has the more booze she can get and the more she can ignore Amelia ignoring her.

(It’s at this point she realises she’s become too acclimatised to London, and speaks, thinks and interacts solely in French for the next two weeks).

-

And then it happens. It’s almost like a romcom. 

Francine has been out selling paintings all day and with no success and surely-sub-zero temperatures, she’s fucking freezing, in a mood that has the chance to turn melancholy, and really regretting her decision to try and get a coffee in rush hour. Eventually she gets a table and she’s alone for all of about five seconds before a familiar voice says “hey, sorry, can I sit at this table?” and she’s looking up into Amelia’s face, which splits into a massive smile and says, enthusiastically, “ _Francine!_ It’s been _ages_! How have you been? What happened, you never talked to me on Facebook?”

The realisation hits Francine like a fucking _train_ and, she decides, their story is _definitely_ a romcom. In a split second she decides between a lie and the truth, chooses half and half, and tells Amelia that she doesn’t get on Facebook much – the truth – but not the rest of it – that she was avoiding her because she felt, let’s face it, insufficient. Amelia shakes her head in disbelief and/or annoyance but doesn’t dwell on it, and in a second Francine finds herself programming her number into Amelia’s phone.

Amelia leans both her elbows on the table, looks up at her over their drinks and smiles.

“Oh my god, that was so _stupid_ , I’m sorry. Well, I guess you know it all now – I’m Amelia, student studying English because I’m not smart enough to be a scientist, working part time in a soul-sucking sports shop, sports un-coincidentally being my biggest passion, closely followed by indie music. Now you.”

So Francine tells her. “Francine, unemployed art-school dropout still making art, selling next to a park and mainly living off my filthy rich parents, who hate me but also believe that if they give me enough money I’ll get tired of London and come home. Art is my biggest passion, followed by indie music and obscure paperbacks.”

Amelia smiles. And it’s not a date, but it really really is, and so’s the next one and the next, and then Christmas is coming up and Amelia’s got her tickets home booked but they have numbers, Twitter and Skype (both at Amelia’s insistence) and they’re definitely not losing contact this time.

-

It’s nine days before Christmas, Amelia has been off school for two days and is due to leave in three, and has £8.47 left in her account. And that’s when their favourite mainstream band announces a February tour. Tickets cost £25 and Amelia has a debit account.

She doesn’t quite cry on the phone, but she comes close. It’s too late to ask her parents for more money and they’ll probably sell out before she gets to the States and it’s nothing serious but really, she was having such a good time, and she hopes Francine enjoys it.

Well. Francine can’t really afford it, but it turns out she really can, and when she hangs up she sets her alarm for 9AM.

Two nights later, and Francine has a bit of paper hidden in her bag which, if all goes well, she’ll present to Amelia later and hope that the fireworks in her mind happen in real life (to put it obscurely).

The not-a-date-but-really-really-is goes fantastically, and Amelia’s smile is wider than she’d ever imagined when they leave the restaurant. Amelia lets Francine pull her by the hand towards the massive Christmas tree in the square, and when she looks at Francine with a curious expression and words on the tip of her tongue, Francine breathes in courage and breathes out fear, and rummages in her bag until she can put the receipt for the tickets in Amelia’s hand.

Two tickets.

It takes her a second but when she gets it, she practically leaps onto Francine, with enough force to make the slenderer girl stumble. Her smile shines brighter than the lights on the tree, and when she manages to get a hold on her thanks, she blushes red and murmurs that she didn’t get anything for Francine. 

Amelia’s hands are still more or less around her neck and Francine’s are around her waist, their heads are still fairly close together, she can feel Amelia’s breath on her face and she’s not even a little ashamed of what she does next.

“A kiss would be a pretty fair payment,” and this time Amelia does look shocked, not so much at the fact that Francine asked for a kiss as at the fact that a) she was serious and b) stone cold sober.

And then she starts laughing, says something about how “I thought you were supposed to be romantic” and then they’re kissing.

It’s a proper kiss, not a peck on the cheek, and while Francine would be lying if she’d said she hadn’t imagined this several times over, she hadn’t imagined it quite like this.

For one thing, Amelia is still smiling and she can feel it against her lips and it feels great. For another thing, they’re pressed right against each other and if Francine wiggled her hands she could easily get under Amelia’s shirt, which is something she really wants but also not what you do a) on what is essentially a first _actual_ date and b) in public (at least, not when it’s this cold).

They break apart for breath and Francine laughs herself, and says “we really are a romcom,” and then Amelia’s laughing and it’s not awkward but happy, and Amelia takes her home.

It feels a bit weird to be going back in a student residence again after she dropped out, but Amelia keeps smiling and kissing her, and she finds herself pressed against the wall of their driveway and their stairwell and then Francine is pressing Amelia against the door to their corridor and finally, _finally_ they are inside Amelia’s room and she is pressing her right up against the door.

In quick order their outer clothes come off and then Amelia falls onto the bed and pulls Francine with her, wriggling upwards so they can lie next to each other and helping Francine get her clothes off until they are in their underwear, Francine perched over Amelia, whose neck is significantly redder than before, both of them catching their breath.

“I don’t normally fuck on the first date,” says Amelia.

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah,” and Francine dives down.

-

Turns out Amelia is _great_ at phone sex.

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna make it mature, and then I got too tired *shakes fist at busy time around Christmas*.
> 
> I really tried, I haven't really been in the fandom recently so I probably fucked up the characters a lot, sorry :/
> 
> Concrit is my favourite thing, so please let me know if I've made any mistakes :>


End file.
